French
by Cordelia Rose
Summary: "Je veux embrasser toi," Blaine says, and Kurt thinks his heart does actually stop for a second before it starts beating double time. Because, yes, the pronunciation was terrible, and the accent was flat, and if Blaine said anything that atrociously butchered in his oral exam he'd probably be kicked out, but…his boyfriend just said he wanted to kiss him. In French.


Hi everyone! Just a few notes before we get started:

This is set at Dalton, but if Kurt stayed there for longer or if Blaine and Kurt's relationship developed quicker (I really love Dalton fics for some reason, and I'm quite willing to meddle with the timeline to get them).

The French is all from my own knowledge (I've been taking classes since I was about four, but I am by no means an expert) and my trusty dictionary. Still, though, may be mistakes. Be warned.

Rather than putting translations for the French at the bottom of the fic, I put them after the actual French so you wouldn't have to scroll back and forth constantly. I feel like that breaks the flow of the story more than just having the English next to it, so.

The very lovely, kind, wondrous (and many other adjectives) KlainePotter621beta'ed this for me – shout-out to her!

This is perhaps the filthiest thing I've ever written. It may not even be that filthy, but I am a blushing virginal 18-year-old. Also, a lesbian, so all knowledge of how men work during sex comes from other fanfictions I've read and a disturbing amount of porn I hope nobody irl ever finds out about.

* * *

Kurt's sitting cross-legged on the bed, a thick textbook about the Tudors open on his lap and his rough workbook perched precariously on one knee. Blaine, as per usual during their homework sessions, is sprawled on the floor with his books everywhere; laptop open in front of him and phone screen lighting up every few minutes with notifications. Every so often he makes a little angry noise as he struggles with something or the other. The noises are becoming more frequent, a sure sign he's moved onto his French work, but he waves off Kurt's help politely.

They've been sitting in silence for a while now, the only noise coming from other students as they clatter around the halls outside and their pens scratching on paper. Then –

"Je veux embrasser toi," Blaine says, and Kurt thinks his heart does actually stop for a second before it starts beating double time. Because, yes, the pronunciation was terrible, and the accent was flat, and if Blaine said anything that atrociously butchered in his oral exam he'd probably be kicked out, but…his boyfriend just said he wanted to kiss him. In French. It hits him harder than he thinks it should, and he scrabbles for a response that's even vaguely intelligent.

"Je veux embrasser toi aussi," he replies, voice pitched just a little higher and breathier than usual. "Mais tu dois finir tes devoirs." _I want to kiss you too. But you have to finish your homework._

Blaine doesn't quite get all of that, judging by his face, but he catches and understands enough to figure out the gist of what Kurt's saying at least, because he grins at him lopsidedly and then returns to his work.

Kurt continues his own homework, though he has to confess to being slightly distracted by the thoughts of Blaine kissing him. Every so often he looks up and sees Blaine flipping through a French dictionary, or scribbling furiously, or squinting at his laptop screen, and his heart feels a little bit bigger each time. He's halfway through a sentence comparing Mary I to Elizabeth I when Blaine speaks up again.

"Je peux passer heures à te regarder," Blaine says, haltingly, reading off his notebook, and flashes Kurt a grin that's half-nervous, half-pleased. _I could spend hours staring at you._

Kurt bites his lip but can't stop the smile escaping. "Um, you need a _des_ before _heures_ ," he says quietly. "But, um – merci, Blaine. Tu es un petit ami incroyable." _You are an amazing boyfriend._

"Yeah?" Blaine grins, clearly understanding that sentence, and jumps up off the floor. He still has his notebook clutched in his hand like a lifeline, and the way he advances towards Kurt and joins him on the bed is nothing short of predatory, eyes never leaving Kurt's. He clears his throat, glances at his paper, and then reads, "Tu as un fantastique cul." _You have a fantastic ass._

"Blaine!" Kurt squawks, and fumbles for something to say. "Actually, in French, adjectives come after the noun, so it should be: 'Tu as un cul fantastique'."

"Noted for future use." Blaine has the audacity to wink at him, and oh boy. If his face wasn't the colour of the dress Lady Gaga wore to the 2009 MTV VMAs, it sure was now.

"Blaine," he says, and tries to sound firm, but between his blushing and the quaver in his voice, and the fact that actually he can't quite stop smiling a little bit, Blaine has him wrapped around his little finger. A fact he full well knows as he continues.

"Ton cul goûte délicieux. Mais je pense que ta bite est meilleur." _Your ass tastes delicious. But I think your cock is better._

An embarrassing strangled sound leaves him without his permission, but Blaine charges on. "C'est tellement beau aussi, comme toi." _It's so beautiful too, just like you._

"Blaine, stop," Kurt tries to insist, but while he is kind of mortified he's also loving it slightly, so there's no actual heat behind his words.

Blaine shakes his head happily. "Je bande," he whispers huskily. "Et toi aussi." _I have a hard-on, and so do you._ "Quand je me branle je pense à toi." _When I jerk off I think of you._

"Not sure why," Kurt mutters, his vision completely filled with his gorgeous boyfriend leaning towards him, mere inches between them. And he can't think why on Earth Blaine would want to be with him when he could have anyone.

Blaine's expression morphs from playful and flirty to pained. "Kurt, mon chère, tu es beau," he says so sincerely. _Kurt, my dear, you are so beautiful._

"Wow, you didn't even need your cheat sheet for that one," he quips so he doesn't have to keep the topic of his own insecurities going. Blaine definitely knows what he's doing but also knows now is not the time for a heavy discussion, and lets himself be carried away.

"Can't all be fluent," he says instead, and moves forward to crowd into Kurt's space, forcing him to lean back on his elbows as Blaine gently settles his weight on top of him. Leg slotting in between his, arms on either side of his torso, a hand coming up to cup his jaw while the other tangles with Kurt's own.

"Just one of my many talents," Kurt manages, focusing on how close Blaine is, chest-to-chest, separated by thin shirts.

"You got that right," Blaine murmurs huskily, and for a second he moves as if to kiss Kurt, but then ducks away at the last minute and looks at the damn notebook that he's laid on the bed besides Kurt's head. "Hang on a second, let me just adapt this – how do you say 'one of them'?"

"Ah – l'un d'eux."

"Okay, l'un d'eux – fuck Kurt, you sound so sexy when you speak French," this time Blaine does kiss him, a barely there peck on his lips that is not satisfying and has Kurt chasing him a little, "okay, ah, l'un d'eux – your talents, I mean - est la façon dont tu bouges, c'est si sensuel." He stumbles over the words as usual, but Kurt's breath still catches in his throat because _one of your talents is the way you move, it's so sensual._

"Blaine," he chokes, but he's ignored in favour of more ragged French.

"Tu n'essayes pas d'être sexy et tu es, tout le temps." _You don't even try to be sexy, but you are, all the time._ Blaine accompanies his words with a nip to his jawline, at the spot he knows Kurt goes slightly crazy about.

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt gasps, and grabs the back of Blaine's head with his spare hand (he's been in the shower already, so his curls are ungelled and soft in his hands.) He's about to pull him in for a kiss, end the teasing, when he realises that actually two can play at this game, especially if one of the two is fluent in the language of the game. He could easily spout off a paragraph about how hot he finds Blaine, but his boyfriend probably wouldn't understand so it would be pointless. He goes for something a little more simple instead, hoping Blaine found this phrase when he was doing his research. "Faire des papouilles avec toi est tellement érotique." _Making out with you is so erotic._ He accompanies his words with a slow roll of his hips, just in case Blaine doesn't get it.

He does, and groans, and then grumbles, "I would hope so," as he adjusts himself on top of Kurt so their cocks are lined up next to each other, all the better for optimal grinding. He growls when Kurt moves his hips again, and pulls him in for a kiss that's mainly his teeth pulling at Kurt's lips.

It's only a slight mood-kill when he pulls away to look at the paper again, and more than compensated for when he murmurs, low and gravelly, "Parfois quand je te vois tout ce que je veux faire c'est t'embrasser. Et parfois…tout ce que je peux penser d'est te baiser." S _ometimes when I see you all I want to do is kiss you. And sometimes…all I can think about is fucking you._

Kurt's breath hitches in a very embarrassing way, but it makes his body jump slightly and they both hiss when they come into contact again. When Kurt glances up he can see how Blaine's eyes have darkened in lust, so he feels slightly more confident and says, "Puis pourquoi tu ne?" _Then why don't you?_ "Si je suis si beau," he adds playfully. _If I am so beautiful_.

"More than that," Blaine says, mostly to himself. "So much more." He drops a kiss to Kurt's bright red cheek and smiles softly, hand still cupping his jaw and thumb stroking over his cheekbone just once to reassure him, and then brings his mouth down to Kurt's ear (also flushed) to say, "Tu te rappelles la semaine dernière quand tu t'es baise avec un gode et tu as joui sur toi-même pendant j'ai regardé? C'était tellement chaud, je pensais que j'allais mourir." _Remember last week when you fucked yourself with a dildo and came on yourself while I watched? That was so hot I thought I was going to die._

Once Kurt figures out what Blaine is saying he can't even bring himself to keep an ear out for mistakes, and is amazed that he even manages to speak, even if it is only to say weakly, "Je suis très excité." _I am very aroused._

"Yeah, I can tell," Blaine snickers, rutting against him. Kurt whimpers, and Blaine drops the cocky, seductive act and bites his lip shyly. It's a rare display of vulnerability, and one that Kurt loves. "Kiss me," he says against Kurt's mouth, and waits for Kurt to make the first move before responding enthusiastically. They lie there for several minutes just exploring each other's mouths, as if it's uncharted territory and not something they've been doing for several months now, and it's only when Blaine shifts his position because his arm's falling asleep that their covered erections make contact again and they both groan into each other's throats.

They part wetly, Blaine immediately moving to kiss down Kurt's neck, tugging his shirt open so he can mouth at his collarbones; a definite weak spot for the both of them. "Kurt, _Kurt_ ," Blaine says between kisses and licks. "Can I – wait, wait – peux-je te tailler une pipe? Je fais les bonnes pipes." _Can I give you a blowjob? I give good blowjobs._

Kurt huffs out a laugh. "You definitely do," he agrees, "mais je préfèrerais si tu me niquerais."

Blaine presses one last kiss to the hollow of his throat and then sits back. "Just checking," he says, voice rough and hair crazier than usual, "you did just say that you wanted me to fuck you, right? Hate to kill the moment, but, you know, consent."

Kurt beams at him. "I did. Also, you're so hot right now Blaine, I don't think you could kill the moment." His boyfriend immediately opens his mouth. "Don't take that as a challenge, love."

"Wasn't going to," he lies. "I was just going to say that usually it takes you longer than this to give up on homework sessions."

"Oh, shoot, this was a homework session," Kurt hisses. Blaine looks like he wants to punch himself for reminding him. He lets him stew for a couple more seconds, but the truth is that he is way too turned on to even consider making them go back to work right now. "This was a homework session," he repeats slowly. "I need to make sure you've learnt something." He leans in close to Blaine's ear, seizes the lobe with his teeth for a second and tugs, then whispers, "Translate this: je veux que tu me baises jusqu'à nous jouissons si fort que nous ne pouvons pas parler."

Blaine looks horrified for a second at the torrent of French, then determined, and stays still for a solid two minutes turning the words over in his mind while Kurt winds his curls through his fingers fondly. "I want you to fuck me until we…" he says, with such an intense look of concentration Kurt wants to both laugh and kiss him all over his stupid cute face. "Um… something about not being able to talk?" He glances up hopefully, through his lashes because he knows Kurt can never resist that.

"I want you to fuck me until we come so hard we can't speak." Kurt takes pity and watches the brilliant grin stretch across Blaine's face. He rarely swears, or says anything remotely sexual, has only just gotten comfortable with using the word 'cock' rather than 'penis' (at Blaine's pleas, because apparently it was a bit of a turn-off when they were making out and Kurt said 'can I touch your penis'), and whenever he does Blaine goes absolutely crazy for it.

This time is no exception; Blaine pounces on him again and covers his neck in so many blooming hickeys that Kurt is sure he'll need to wear a scarf until he's seventy. He only relents for a few seconds to finish unbuttoning Kurt's shirt, which is soon tossed onto the floor (and Kurt would complain, except it's the issued uniform shirt so he really doesn't care when Blaine's moved his mouth down to his nipples and is alternately nipping and sucking at them like his life depends on it). He spends a stupid amount of time laving his tongue over his stomach, too, and petting clumsily at it, because Blaine has a weird thing for his stomach, always lays his hands on it when they cuddle.

"Blaine, _please_ ," Kurt finally grits out. "Please can we get to the main event?"

"Bossy," Blaine mumbles, kissing along his waistband, but finally acquiesces and unbuttons the uniform slacks. "What do you want me to do?"

"Ah – Blaine – finger me, please." Even now the words bring a solid blush high along his cheekbones. "The lube, it's in the second drawer down."

Blaine pauses in tugging down Kurt's pants and boxers, and tilts his head to the side. "Sorry, didn't quite catch that," he says cheerfully. "In French, please."

"Blaine, are you kidding me."

"Nope, quite serious."

"You're not speaking French!"

"I'm not the one who's fluent. Or begging for my cock."

"Well, I wouldn't say _begging_ …" Kurt mutters petulantly, and Blaine pulls a face at him which makes him want to giggle immediately but then shuffles backwards like he's going to leave, and Kurt lunges forward and grabs one of his wrists. "Blaine, Blaine – don't, no, come back – um – le lubrifiant est dans le deuxième tiroir."

Blaine makes a noise between pleased and turned on, and rewards him by pulling his slacks off, leaving the boxers where they were. "And?" he prompts.

Kurt groans, remembering the first part of his plea. Somehow, it seems dirtier in French. "Doigter moi," he finally stammers out, and Blaine coos and kisses his bare calf.

"I didn't hear a 'please'," he says pleasantly.

"Oh for heaven's sake – doigter moi, s'il vous plaît," Kurt bites, scowling at Blaine, who has positioned himself between Kurt's legs.

"So hot," Blaine mumbles and tugs Kurt's boxers off. And apparently, at some point when Kurt was convincing himself to be vulgar in French, he's taken his own shirt and slacks off, and now is just wearing his boxers, an obvious erection tenting the front. "So, so hot, Kurt." At some point he's grabbed the lube too, the tube half-empty, and clicks it open to squeeze a generous amount onto his fingers, rolling it around to warm it up.

"Blaine," Kurt whines, when his boyfriend starts kissing upwards from his ankle.

"You always bitch when it's cold," he's reprimanded, and then Blaine's tongue darts out to lick at a fading hickey on his inner thigh from three days ago.

"Do not," Kurt says breathily as Blaine's mouth seals over a fresh patch of skin and starts pulling and biting gently. Then he adds in good measure, "Ne pas," before Blaine even thinks about pausing his ministrations.

"Yeah, you do," Blaine replies once he's satisfied with his new artwork. "But I kind of love it." He repositions himself so he has one arm underneath Kurt's leg, hand curling round to hold his thigh gently but possessively, and the other hand _so close_ to his hole. Kurt automatically lifts the free leg and rests it on Blaine's back, over his shoulder, like they usually do because Blaine really likes any show of his flexibility and Kurt isn't opposed to it either.

When Blaine doesn't do anything, Kurt snaps, "Veux-tu que je mendie?" _Do you want me to beg?_ and Blaine says, "I have no idea what that means but it was in French so good enough," and then there's a single finger breaching him slowly, carefully, not enough but also just enough.

Kurt lets out a heavy sigh and wiggles as Blaine's finger, deliciously callous-ridden, enters him fully. Blaine, being the gentleman he is, always waits. Deep down Kurt does appreciate it, because ever since he started having sex he's been kind of insatiable and would probably end up hurting himself if it wasn't for Blaine's level-head even during the throes of passion. But he also hates it, because Blaine always insists they wait a few minutes to let him adjust to each finger, even the first, and right now it's making Kurt writhe around like he's possessed by some sort of break-dancing demon. "Blaine," he whines, when the feeling starts edging on the side of teasing, and his boyfriend kisses the inside of his thigh and obliges him with another finger.

This time Kurt does need to adjust, just for a few seconds, and Blaine holds still until Kurt starts moving and then crooks his fingers and scissors them and does all sorts of wonderful things until Kurt is moaning shamelessly. "Another," he demands breathlessly, and hears Blaine's wonderful chuckle. "Blaine, come on." He's a diva in everyday life, so naturally he is in the bedroom too, a fact that he knows Blaine absolutely gets off on.

"Sorry, say it again?" Blaine asks innocently.

"Oh, Blaine, I can't think when you're doing that," he says waspishly, and then whines when Blaine raises his eyebrows and starts to slide his fingers out. "No! Blaine, wait, um – un autre, s'il vous plaît."

Blaine might love it when he's bossy, but he also seems to love it when Kurt has to resort to begging. Especially in French, it would appear.

"Good boy," he says sweetly, "remembering to say please," and Kurt has a comment loaded with sarcasm ready to fly when Blaine finally slips three fingers inside him and almost instantly, with an ease that comes with practice, nudges them against his prostate. Instead of a clever reply, what comes out of his mouth is an absolutely filthy moan as he bucks his hips to try and repeat the action. The slight sting only adds to the pleasure.

Blaine fingers him for what feels like hours, until Kurt is certain that he's completely, fully stretched, and then he fingers him some more. On some strokes he ignores his prostate entirely and on others he hits it straight on, deliberately not setting a pattern to it so Kurt can't predict it.

"Blaine, come on," he whines, "I'm ready."

"Yeah?" Blaine slides his fingers out of him, eliciting a pitiful moan from Kurt that just makes him smile a little wider. He reaches over to the side table, then hesitates. "Condom?" he asks, because they do it with and without depending on how they're feeling.

"Without," Kurt orders, grabbing Blaine's shoulders and tugging him back over so he's lying on top of him. Then, because he's figured out this isn't actually Blaine being a dick but because he has a thing for it, says in French, "Sans, je veux te sentir." _Without, I want to feel you._

"You're sure?" Blaine asks, probably wary of past experiences where he's wanted to relax into post-coital snuggling and Kurt has insisted they take a shower and change the sheets first.

"Mm-hm. Your bed, don't care if it gets messy." Kurt grins at him, half-playful, half-abashed, because that is a large part of the reason he's not so fussed about the mess.

Blaine laughs delightedly in the way he does sometimes when Kurt does something that he particularly likes. "You are such a brat."

"Tu adores ça," Kurt smiles, and pecks a kiss to his lips. "Tu m'adores." _You love it. You love me._

Blaine's breath stutters for a second – either from the French or the comment, maybe both – and then he exhales shakily and mutters, "Yeah, yeah, okay," and grabs the now nearly empty bottle of lube and uses what's left to slick himself up thoroughly. Kurt watches contently as Blaine's hand moves over his cock quickly, then glances up at his face to see that it's slack with pleasure, and then Kurt feels kind of bad for neglecting to pay any attention to Blaine throughout all of this.

Blaine, being the mind-reader that he definitely is, uses his free hand to cup Kurt's face. "I'm good, I'm good," he reassures, panting slightly. "You're the one who needs the preparation here."

Kurt fumbles around for a good response to that, but then Blaine shifts higher on the bed and nudges their noses together as he kisses him sweetly, and positions the head of his cock barely touching Kurt's hole, waiting for permission.

Kurt can't resist. "Baise-moi," he says breathlessly. "Fuck me, Blaine. Come on."

Blunt pressure as Blaine presses in, carefully, slowly, kissing him while he does and letting Kurt nip at his bottom lip because it helps distract him from slight pain as he gets a few solid inches inside. Then he waits patiently until Kurt pulls away to gulp in much-needed air and lets his head fall back against the pillows, exposing his throat. Blaine takes it for the request that Kurt means it to be and starts peppering the smooth expanse of skin with closed-mouth kisses. When Kurt mumbles that he's good, Blaine pushes in the rest of the way, hands patting at his hips and thighs to help him relax against the intrusion. No matter how many times they do this his body is never quite able to fully let go until Blaine is fully seated and then he realises just how good it feels, and all of his muscles go slack.

Blaine feels it, how everything goes loose and pliant except the tightness around his cock, and smiles against the juncture where Kurt's neck meets his shoulder, where he's dropped his head to pant damply against the skin. "So good," he murmurs, almost so quiet that Kurt doesn't hear him. "So tight, Kurt, so hot."

"You can move," Kurt says. The words are polite but the tone is very much demanding. Blaine chuckles and kisses his collarbone as he pulls back, almost entirely out, and then back in slowly, letting Kurt adjust, because however much he tries to insist that Blaine goes faster, they both know he'd just end up sore later.

Doesn't stop him from complaining. "Too slow," he groans against Blaine's neck, whimpering at the torturous drag of Blaine's cock inside him. "Not enough, Blaine, please." His hands are still tangled in the thick curls on Blaine's scalp, wilder now that he's slightly sweaty, and he tugs at them to make his point.

Blaine hisses at the feeling, then huffs, "Do you want to walk tomorrow?", clearly talking about a few Fridays ago when Blaine fucked him so roughly that he was limping all weekend, while his family kept fussing over him and asking if he'd pulled a muscle.

Instead of arguing more, he relaxes into the sensation, crossing his ankles over the small of Blaine's back. "You're amazing," he breathes, and both of them know it's as close to an apology for his earlier attitude as Kurt will give. "Magnifique." Blaine whines and thrusts back in a little harder than before, shoulders trembling a little.

"Kurt, are you – can I?" he asks, biting lightly at his shoulder.

"Please," Kurt groans. "Faster, Blaine, c'mon. Plus vite, chéri. Plus fort. Blaine, please." _Faster, darling. Harder._

A strangled sound tears itself from the back of Blaine's throat, a cross between a whine and a moan, and he finally starts putting a little more force behind his movements. "Kurt," he grunts, " _Kurt_." Kurt scratches his nails through Blaine's scalp, down his neck and back, and at long last Blaine starts fucking him with abandon, hard and rough.

The burn has faded, leaving just the searing heat and the feeling of Blaine, solid inside him. Kurt meets his thrusts halfway by wriggling down on Blaine's cock, near-shrieking when Blaine angles his hips differently to hit his prostate, squeezes his inner muscles (which never fails to draw a wonderful litany of creative curses from his usually reserved, dapper boyfriend), and digs his nails into any skin he can reach, ensuring Blaine's going to have a variety of crescent-shaped marks and long red lines covering him for the next few days.

Their lips meet erratically, often with each other's teeth and tongues as well, sometimes only connecting for a second before they have to break apart to breathe in air. Other times they stay together for what seems like hours. Blaine doesn't relent on his pace, just lowers himself onto his elbows after a few minutes when he starts to get tired. The new position means Kurt's cock is trapped between them, rubbing against Blaine's stomach every time he moves, the dark hairs that Kurt loves to stroke his hands through adding a new layer of friction to the sensation.

Just when Kurt's getting so close he's about to reach down and stroke himself to completion, Blaine's hips stutter and he whimpers, low and drawn-out, and Kurt's priorities change from simply _orgasm_ to _making Blaine orgasm_ because he's always so beautiful when he comes and he wants to see that. He tightens his legs around his back, pulling them closer together, and pulls Blaine's head back so he can look him directly in the eyes when he says, with complete and utter sincerity, "Tu es à moi et je suis à toi." _You are mine and I am yours_.

Blaine moans, broken and beautiful, and stills as he comes. Kurt whimpers at the feeling as Blaine's cock pulses inside him and several hot, thick ropes of his come fill him. "Blaine," he murmurs, and then the other boy kisses him deeply and passionately as his body shudders through the after-shocks.

"You are so amazing," Blaine says earnestly, and starts kissing every part of his face that he can as he pulls out. They both wince as the head of his cock catches on Kurt's rim, and Kurt whines because he's still achingly hard. "I've got you." As soon as his now-soft cock leaves him Blaine replaces it with two fingers. He's no longer empty but not quite as full as he was. But that's ignored as soon as Blaine crooks his fingers and finds his prostate and rubs against it once, twice, three times, and then presses his thumb firmly just under the head of Kurt's cock along with the final stroke. He bites down on Blaine's shoulder, muffling his cries, as he follows Blaine's orgasm with his own.

Blaine slides his fingers out with a slightly unpleasant squelching sound, wipes them off on the bedsheets, chuckling at Kurt's disgusted expression, and then leans in to kiss his swollen lips gently, careful not to aggravate the tender flesh anymore.

"You have a French kink," Kurt mumbles when Blaine pulls away and settles them both down, face to face, limbs so tangled it's hard to tell where they both begin and end individually. He eyes the clear bite-mark on Blaine's shoulder, which has already turned purple, and strokes up and down his arm as an apology.

"I have a Kurt kink," Blaine replies, and snickers at the unimpressed look on Kurt's face. "Okay, maybe a bit of a French kink. Just – the things you were saying, Kurt, and then in French? It was so hot, like insanely so, and it was _you_ saying them, I just couldn't—"

Kurt interrupts his rambling with a firm kiss, then regrets it when he realises just how sensitive his mouth is. "Ouch," he hisses, pulling back, tongue darting out to lick and soothe. Blaine's eyes follow the movement for a second, dazed, and then he grabs the blanket he used to wipe his fingers on and carefully pats the mess away from Kurt's stomach, hands lingering there a little longer than necessary, and then in between his legs (which makes Kurt blush ridiculously red, considering what they just did) before tossing it aside.

"We need to shower later," Blaine mutters, throwing himself back down and curling around Kurt as the big spoon. His phone chimes and he makes a soft grumbling noise and fumbles for it under the pillow, where he always keeps it and Kurt tells him off for because he's convinced it's going to give him brain cancer or something.

"Anything important?" Kurt asks, eyes already drifting shut.

"Just the Warblers group chat." Blaine kisses the spot beneath his ear and taps out a reply.

"Don't make a stupid French-based pun or innuendo."

"Ah. Too late," Blaine says sheepishly, and shows Kurt his phone screen, where he can see that Blaine's replied to an innocent message (or perhaps not so innocent) of 'How's the studying going, Klaine?' with 'Learning lots of French ;)'. "Not a lie." He kisses the back of his neck for good measure and chucks his phone carelessly onto the floor.

Kurt hums. "I guess I did say a lot of new words," he muses.

"You're the best teacher."

A slow, satisfied grin spreads out over his face. "Mm. I am. Now shut up and let me sleep. Teaching is _exhausting_."

* * *

I'm off to hide in my shame cave, but I do have internet there so any comments and kudos will be greatly appreciated and will probably make me cry with joy, so, you know the drill ;)

Seriously - thank you for reading my fic, it makes me very happy when people out there enjoy my writing. So, sincerely, thank you very much 3


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